When my babies were little and they’d get sleepy, I’d pick them up hoping they’d take a rest.
Sometimes, they snuggled right down.
Sometimes, their rigid little bodies turned stone stiff and refused to relax or bend.
I am not sleepy, and thou shalt not comfort me, Oh Maternal Harbinger of Naptime to Come.
Even when they couldn’t talk, that message was loud and clear.
Until I’d say, “Lay your head, little one. It’s OK to lay your head down.”
They sighed and their hard heads dropped with a loud ker-thunk onto my collarbone, which is sincerely one of the sweetest forms of pain in the known universe. Especially with the accompanying whiff of baby shampoo in the wind.
Mmm. Content baby. Content mommy.
Lay your head.
I still get to say it for just a bit longer to my 4-year-olds, even though their legs dangle below my knee-caps when I pick them up.
What got me thinking about this today?
I walked by a photo I keep in the house. Like most decorative items, it’s faded into the background a bit over the years. But today I picked it up again and reminisced.
It’s a photo of my friend’s wedding.
I was maid of honor and Abby was flower girl.
We took a picture of the three of us.
There’s always been a rather marked height difference between my friend and me.
So, well, I laid my head.
And then the bride laughed. And the photographer snapped one of my favorite photos of all time.
Just goes to show, you can dress me up, but you can’t take me anywhere.